Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

"You remember that one time," Ere began, voice oozing with mischief, "he tripped over his own ego walking into a Versace store when Tessa had just left back home and left him in the penthouse alone, tried to flirt with a cashier, and called himself a 'certified celestial snack'?"

Levi wheezed. [Don't—don't remind me. She gave him a 15% discount out of pity.]

"Now look at him. All serious and reverent. Mister 'My Lady' this and 'Grace of Legend' that. What's next? Reciting Homer while brushing her hair?"

[He's gonna pull out a laurel crown and propose marriage with a meteor shower, just you wait.]

"He kissed her hand like it was an ancient artifact. Did you see that? Did you see it?"

[He hovered. Hovered, Ere. Like the kiss had a loading bar.]

"It was a whole spiritual experience! I'm surprised he didn't start levitating and speaking Greek."

[He probably wanted to. Bet he practiced in front of a mirror: 'Cassandra… starfire of my soul… womb of my war-forged longing…']

"STOP." Ere was howling now. "You're gonna make me throw up in his soul-core!"

Back outside, Parker's eye twitched.

Just slightly.

He resisted the urge to banish them to a separate plane. Again.

But they weren't done.

"You know what this is, right?" Ere continued, now pacing inside Parker's head like she owned it. "This is repressed mortal thirst. That pre-system thirst. The kind where you read tragic love stories and cry into your pillow and pretend you're the guy who couldn't save her."

[Oh gods. He is the guy who couldn't save her. This is some reincarnated fanfiction nonsense. Do you think he wrote her name in a notebook with hearts?]

"He had a crush on a fictional Cassandra. And now she's real. Flesh. Prophecy. Historical drip."

[And he's over here acting like a celestial simp with a crown.]

Parker took a slow, slow breath. He could have turned them both into cosmic static. He really could have. But no. He had to be composed. He had guests. His palace gates were practically glittering with drama.

But then Ere said—

"You think he'll cry if she calls him Pah-kerr in that soft voice again?"

And Levi lost it. Absolutely lost it.

[I swear if she even whispers, 'I dreamed of you'—he's proposing.]

"Tessa's gonna murder him. Maya's gonna supervise. And we'll sell popcorn from the Astral Plane."

[Do we charge in soul fragments or chaos abyss gems?]

"Both. Premium seating gets to watch Maya's eyes glow."

[Say the line, Ere.]

"...What line?"

[The one he wrote in that dumb notebook when he was mortal. The one about Cassandra.]

"Oh my god." Ere inhaled. And with dramatic flair, recited in Parker's voice:

"Even if the gods curse me a thousand times over, I would walk through every war-torn age just to be in the presence of the woman who saw the future and still chose me."

Levi screamed. [HE SAID THAT?! NO WONDER YOU'RE EMBARRASSED. BRO. YOU WERE DOWN BAD!]

Parker blinked calmly as Cassandra smiled at him like he was a prophecy made flesh. Inside, he was mentally lighting Ere and Levi on fire with ritual-grade incense.

Outside, he bowed again.

"Shall we go in, my lady?"

Of all the ridiculous things Ere and Levi had spewed in the last five minutes—and there had been a lot—not a single one was true.

Okay.

Fine.

Maybe he had a crush on a fictional Kassandra from a novel but it was once. Maybe he had highlighted a few poetic phrases in the margins of a novel and imagined her voice in a British accent. Maybe he had Googled "What if Cassandra of Troy had survived?" at 2 a.m. during those late free hour's in Scarlett's bar while drunk on Red Bull and existential loneliness.

But he *never—*and he meant never—wrote it in a fucking notebook.

The hell were they talking about?

"Notebook of longing," he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes as he opened the palace limo's door for Cassandra. "I'll burn your stupid mind, Ere and you will tell me where you came up with this nonsense."

The beasts weren't even on Earth by then when he had a crush on her and still managed to act like two giggling teenage girls with microphones wired directly into his frontal lobe.

They were clearly compensating. That was all this was. Just two chaotic, overgrown psychic pigeons screaming nonsense to make up for the fact that his life had been non-stop divine drama for weeks now. No banter. No flirting. No chaos. Just cosmic responsibility.

This?

This nonsense?

This felt like a scene thrown in by the author just to let the readers breathe. Like—here's the comic relief, everyone. Watch the immortal alpha male get roasted by his own pets while he tries to play romantic monarch.

He helped Cassandra into the car, her smile still luminous like she'd walked out of a dream—and honestly, she probably had. Isis followed with that unreadable queen's grace. Hector—tall, stoic, annoyingly handsome—nodded once like the ideal myth-forged chaperone. Cleopatra walked in last, not even bothering to hide her smirk.

He swore she winked at Maya.

Atalanta had already joined Annabelle and the rest in the next limo ahead, probably warning them not to make eye contact with anyone carrying unresolved goddess-level tension.

Parker exhaled.

No. He was not going to think about the imaginary notebook.

And if Ere or Levi ever brought it up again, he was going to wipe their memory and make them relive every Jane Austen adaptation ever filmed.

In slow motion.

With emotional subtitles.

On repeat.

For a century.

He adjusted his coat, glanced once at the heavens like "You seeing this, Nyxavere?", and then stepped into the limo like the composed, absolutely-not-simping, definitely-not-journaling Prince of Existence he was.

*

The second limo glided like a floating dream behind the lead car; its interior the kind of luxury that made most royal families look underfunded. Velvet seats, enchanted mini-bar, and a soft hum of warded silence that didn't stop anyone from being loud as hell.

"Why the fuck is she riding with him?" Annabelle whined for the sixth time, her legs crossed on Robert's lap like he was furniture, and she was tax-free royalty. "I mean, hello? She shows up with her prophecy eyes and breathes—and suddenly we're all acting like she's the final boss wife? Am I the only one seeing this?"

"No," Whisper muttered from the corner, arms folded, claws tapping the leather seat like she was holding back a blood contract. "I'm seeing it. I'm also seeing the future. One where I jump out of this car and set her hair on fire."

Robert didn't say a word. Not because he didn't have opinions.

He just knew better than to try speaking when Annabelle and these super powerful teenagers were in full "spoiled princess apocalypse" mode. She was already holding one of his hands like it was hers by right of divine decree, and the last time he'd pulled away from his daughter, she'd threatened to erase herself from reality and "haunt him as a concept" complaining she was making up for their lost time as father and daughter.

Bella was curled up at Whisper's side like a lovesick kitten who'd overdosed on adoration and caffeine. Her cheek was mushed against the demon princess's arm.

"She's so graceful though," Bella said dreamily. "Like, she walks like the wind sighing through sacred ruins."

"Do you even know what that means?" Whisper asked flatly.

"Nope. But it's how she makes me feel." She twirled a strand of her own hair. "Like I want to cry and get married at the same time."

Annabelle turned around with a grimace. "Ugh. Gross. Please don't poeticize the girl who's literally walking up to my man with that 'sunset-wrapped-in-tragedy' aura. This isn't a Greek tragedy. This is my show."

"I thought it was Parker's show?" Robert said.

Big mistake.

Annabelle turned slowly, like a villainess whose earrings doubled as weapons. "Excuse me, dad?"

He held up both hands. "Nothing. Your show. All yours. I just rent space in the audience."

"Good." She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed dramatically. "You're learning, dad."

Whisper stared out the window, lips tight, as the passing landscape of the driveway into the palace blurred into gold. She hadn't spoken of it aloud. Not really. But she still couldn't believe it—Tessa, the human girl who'd called her a menace, had still stepped in to protect her when it mattered. Had taken that fate in her place without flinching.

"Do you think…" Whisper's voice was quieter now. "Do you think she regrets it?"

Annabelle cracked one eye open. "Regrets what?"

"Saving me."

For once, Bella sat up and placed a hand on her shoulder. "She doesn't. I know it. She does dumb stuff, but not that kind of dumb. Tessa doesn't regret people. She claims them."

Robert nodded silently. Whisper looked away.

Outside, the limos floated across the hovering road bridge that led toward the palace's upper halls, passing enchanted fields and divine waterfalls that shimmered with starlight.

"Still," Annabelle mumbled with a pout, "she could've at least let me have the front seat. I've got the vibe. I deserve the throne. And now even Cleopatra who is she even?"

"She literally ruled an empire," Robert said.

"And I rule the group chat," Annabelle replied. "So who really wins?"